The Sunday Scoop

What do cavities, leaky roofs, and hemorrhoids have in common?

They’re all unwanted pains that evoke a unanimous ugh. As of this morning, I can add one more to the list: Shattered cell phone screen.

The story takes place on a Sunday morning when I was sitting on the commode (and no, I’m not just saying that for the sake of story telling). I reached up to the half-wall to set my phone down, per usual, except my aim was off. Down went the cell phone, corner first, onto the tile floor.

Behold my commode moment, in every since of the term.

How is it a good thing?

I didn’t care. I mean, I cared, but not enough to react. I didn’t yell. Didn’t gripe. Didn’t even cuss, and that’s the honest-to-goodness truth.

Granted, my coffee hadn’t kicked in yet so I was still in mombie state, which is basically one notch above a morphine drip. But still.

A year ago, I would’ve gone off the rails mad at myself for being careless. A few years ago, I may have even cried.

As I so often preach to Miller, when things don’t go your way, rather than crying, use your brain to think it through. Put your emotions on pause long enough to keep your head in the game.

It’s something I’ve learned from years of watching Muscato work through all kinds of conflicts and cruxes. Objective objective objective. Find a solution first. By the time it’s in place, I usually don’t have emotional fumes left: It all served as fuel to the thinking process.

As for my phone? I have insurance. Tomorrow morning I’ll call Apple Care, and by mid-week I’ll have another perfectly-intact cell phone.

That’s it. That’s how it’s a good thing that my phone left glass shards on the floor.

(Note to self: Next time use the giant sticker screen protector thing instead of liquid armor. The sticker holds all the little pieces in place as proven by Muscato’s cracked cell phone screen. Yet another nugget I’ve learned from that man.)